


Thanksgiving Dinner for Two

by honeybutterbucky



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Belly Kink, Fluff and Smut, Food Kink, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Phone Sex, Weight Gain, chubby Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-02
Updated: 2020-04-02
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:00:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23447401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honeybutterbucky/pseuds/honeybutterbucky
Summary: The only thing that sucks about Bucky getting into his dream school is that it's in California, and Steve is in New York. He's determined not to let it change their friendship, but as their first semester apart drags on, that's exactly what seems to be happening. Bucky can only hope it's for the best. (It is.)
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Steve Rogers
Comments: 8
Kudos: 180





	Thanksgiving Dinner for Two

**Author's Note:**

> Long-time lurker, first-time writer, lol. Just trying to fight the quarantine blues with a bit of long-distance wg kink. Please be gentle with me.

Bucky would never, ever, admit it, but the fact that he got into his dream school kind of… sucks. 

He’d worked his ass off in high school to juggle being captain of the football team and valedictorian. He deserved the football scholarship he’d earned at one of the best engineering schools in the country. Bucky is _proud_ of himself for getting accepted. 

It just sucks that his dream school happens to be all the way in California, when his best friend is staying here in New York. 

“I’m gonna FaceTime you every day,” Bucky says, when it’s their last night together before he moves and they’re spending it on Steve’s fire escape, like so many other nights. “You’re gonna get tired of my ugly mug.” He reaches over and flicks Steve’s arm, teasing, but Steve just flinches away. 

“Yeah, until you make new friends and forget about me,” Steve says, sounding like he’s trying to make a joke and failing. Bucky’s face falls but he manages a smile before Steve looks back up at him. 

“Could never forget about you, Steve,” Bucky says, softer than he means to. He reaches out again but this time, he wraps his arm around Steve’s shoulders and gives him a little shake. “It’s you and me, remember?” To the end of the line, he doesn’t add, because he doesn’t need to. It’s just the way it’s always been, since they were kids. Best friends forever, and something like not being in the same state for a few years isn’t going to change that. 

They could be more than best friends, maybe, Bucky thinks, sometimes. Not that he’d ever dare say that out loud, either. He’s never been the brave one, not like Steve. And now is certainly not the time, on the eve of his cross-country move. So he keeps quiet. 

It takes a moment, but eventually Steve nods and even looks over at Bucky with a weak smile. “You and me,” he says. “I remember, Buck.” Bucky grins back and pulls Steve close, and they watch the sunset together from that little fire escape, and Bucky tries not to wonder if it really will be the last time. 

***

He’s true to his word, though, whatever doubts Steve has. A week, two weeks, a month goes by and Bucky makes sure to find time every single night to give Steve a call. Because that’s what best friends do, of course. 

Sometimes they only have time for a fifteen-minute chat after dinner before one of them has to run off to the next class or meeting or practice, but there are plenty of nights when they fall asleep talking, too. It means everything to Bucky, their time together. College in California is so different from high school in New York, and Bucky is beyond grateful to have Steve to anchor him. He makes new friends, too, for sure, but no one compares to Steve, even when he’s so many miles away. 

And Steve seems to be doing well, too. While Bucky is back to (happily) juggling football, homework, and his social life, Steve’s life is a little calmer, though no less exciting. They’d been on the team together in high school, but Steve decided to drop sports altogether after graduation to focus on his true love: art. His school doesn’t even have a football team. So it’s not entirely surprising when they’re on FaceTime one night and Steve looks down at something out of frame and his chin doubles a bit. Honestly, it makes Bucky… happy. 

Maybe that’s weird, he thinks. But Steve was always skin and bones until he bulked up playing football, and even then, he was more lanky and lean than anything else. Bucky feels like the freshman fifteen would probably suit him. A bit of padding could do his body good. Bucky has to say that he’s always preferred that, anyway. 

Bucky blinks. It’s not that he’s never thought about Steve’s body before, but he’s also never considered it in the context of his own… preferences. Huh. It makes sense, Bucky figures; his crush on Steve (and he can admit, privately, that it is a crush, now) has not faded with distance. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all of that. So it tracks that Bucky would be thinking about Steve in that way, now, too. 

“Buck?” Steve asks, interrupting his thoughts. “You still there?” Bucky nods and hopes that Steve doesn’t notice the way his cheeks have gone pink. 

“Yeah, bud, sorry,” he says, sheepish. “Didn’t mean to zone out there. Tell me again about your art history professor?”

Steve sighs, but he’s grinning. “You’re just tired from all those extra workouts, Buck,” he teases. “Sleep in once in a while, would ya? Treat yourself.” Bucky firmly does not allow himself to wonder if that’s what Steve’s been doing, instead forcing himself to pay attention to the laundry list of complaints Steve has about his art history professor. 

If Bucky finds himself thinking about Steve’s soft chin and speculating on what might be going on just out of his field of vision later, in the dark privacy of his dorm room, well, that’s his business.

***

The problem is that Bucky finds himself speculating more and more often. He never really sees anything but Steve’s face when they chat, but that’s enough to fuel the fire. It’s been a month since Bucky first noticed that hint at a double chin and Steve’s cheeks have definitely filled out, his cheekbones practically getting less prominent with each passing day. He's pretty sure the beginning of the end is the night that Steve grins at one of Bucky’s dumb stories and Bucky notices, for the first time in his life, that Steve has a dimple in his right cheek. Especially considering how often that cute double chin starts to appear. 

Bucky’s never thought about his best friend like this before and it’s probably wrong and he should probably stop. But he doesn’t. 

He doesn’t stop putting his hand down his pants and thinking about how whatever it is that’s making Steve’s cheeks round out might be having the same effect in other places, either. 

***

It does, of course, eventually come to a head.

Bucky has never been a huge fan of Thanksgiving for a number of reasons, and he wasn’t expecting to enjoy it this year, given that he wouldn’t even be spending it at home with his family. But, as usual, Steve manages to flip Bucky’s expectations on their head. He really should’ve learned this by now. 

They’ve still been talking on the phone every day, amazingly, and Thanksgiving is no different. Bucky is back in his dorm room, studying, after filling up on a reasonable amount of turkey and mashed potatoes at the cafeteria, when Steve calls him. He doesn’t have time to say hello before Steve groans. 

“I think I’m dying, Buck,” he says. Bucky laughs, like he usually does when Steve is being over-dramatic (which is often). 

“I tell you every year not to eat dairy,” Bucky says. Steve is lactose intolerant, but that doesn’t stop him from covering his pumpkin pie in whipped cream on an annual basis. 

“I didn’t!” Steve says, indignantly, though the effect is lost when he groans again. “Well, not too much,” he adds. “It’s just that I ate too much of… everything else.” Bucky can practically feel his ears physically perk up. Steve’s never been one to over-indulge on the holidays (except for the aforementioned whipped cream), but Bucky knew this year would be different, didn’t he?

“You did?” Bucky asks, trying to keep his voice even. Steve disappears from the frame and the walls and ceiling of his bedroom flash by as he flops down on his bed. 

“Ugh, yes,” Steve says, his face filling the frame again. Bucky can tell he’s laying on his back now, from the way his chin is sitting in the little roll of fat that’s formed beneath it. Bucky can barely take his eyes off it. 

“What, uh, what’d you have?” Bucky says. He realizes that’s probably a weird question to ask your friend so he adds, “Let me live vicariously,” as if that makes it any better. But Steve doesn’t seem to notice—he just launches into a list. 

“Started with turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, sweet potatoes, green beans, cranberry sauce, cornbread, of course. Gravy on everything. Then seconds of, uh, all of it.” He pauses and Bucky can see how pink his chubby cheeks are, even in the fading evening light on Steve’s end of the call.

Bucky sets his book aside and leans back in his bed before he asks, quietly, “Yeah? What else?”

Steve gives him a steady look and the moment stretches on long enough that Bucky starts to think he’s made a mistake, but then Steve says, “Thirds of cornbread and sweet potatoes. And then dessert.”

“Dessert?” Bucky asks. He doesn’t trust himself to say any more. 

“Yeah, dessert. Slice of apple pie. Slice of pumpkin. Glass of milk. And then, uh, another slice of apple.” His round cheeks are flaming, but he doesn’t break eye contact. Bucky takes it as a challenge. 

“Three slices of pie,” he says, with a low whistle. “On top of everything else. You must be pretty full, Steve.”

“Yeah, I already said, I ate too much, Buck,” Steve says. His voice has dropped to just above a whisper, too, and it makes the whole thing seem… intimate. Bucky squirms and suddenly realizes that he’s half-hard in his sweatpants. 

“Yeah, you did,” Bucky says, not sure which part he means. “How do you feel?” He concentrates on holding his phone steady in one hand while he sneaks the other down to press on his dick. It’s the kind of relief that only makes things worse. 

Steve snorts. “Fucking full, Buck,” he says. “Gotta…” The camera shakes for a second, and then Steve sighs in a way that has Bucky hardening up fully under his hand. “Okay, that’s better,” he says. 

“Did you,” Bucky cuts himself off, his throat suddenly dry. He swallows and wets his lips with his tongue before he can finish the question. “Did you unbutton your pants?” He presses the heel of his hand against his cock again. Bucky’s not entirely sure why this turns him on so damn much, but he doesn’t feel like examining it very closely when Steve’s right here, looking flushed and soft in a way Bucky’s only seen in his dreams. 

“Yeah,” Steve says. “Buck, I,” he starts, but Bucky cuts him off. 

“I gotta go, Steve,” Bucky says. He’s rock hard, thinking about what Steve must look like on the other side of the camera— _big_ is the first word that comes to mind, and also _sweet_ , but maybe Bucky’s mind is clouded by pie, three slices of pie in Steve’s belly, and wouldn’t Bucky like him to have some more? Wouldn’t Bucky like to be there, and crawl into Steve’s lap, and feed him pie with one hand while the other explores the space in between the flaps of those unbuttoned jeans?

He doesn’t end the call, though. He slips his hand down the front of his sweatpants and just holds it there, covering his cock but not moving, waiting for Steve to say something. 

“Don’t go, Buck,” Steve says, more gently than Bucky deserves. “How do _you_ feel right now?” And Bucky can’t help but answer truthfully. He’s never been able to lie to Steve, anyway. 

“I’m…” he trails off, then starts again. “I’m hard, Steve. I’m—you’ve been—I’ve been thinking about you for weeks.” Steve blinks, like that’s not what he was expecting. 

“Weeks?”

“ _Weeks_ ,” Bucky groans. “And now you’re listing off everything you _ate_ and it’s enough for two people at _least_ and I don’t know what this is but I’m fucking _hard_ , Steve, if you never want to talk to me again that’s okay but you need to tell me _right now_ , please.” He’s pleading, by the last word, and he can’t find it in himself to be embarrassed, probably because all the blood in his body is pounding beneath his still motionless hand. 

“Touch yourself, Buck,” Steve says, and he sounds breathless but somehow Bucky knows it’s not because he’s stuffed more than the turkey he ate. Bucky doesn’t move until Steve says, “Go on, Bucky, it’s okay,” and then he couldn’t stop himself if he tried, his fist flying over his cock. 

“Steve,” he says, already sounding desperate, even to his own ears. “You gotta—can I see? Please?” Steve grins, showing that dimple that Bucky loves so much, and it makes him whine, a high sound escaping from the back of his throat. 

“See what?” Steve teases.

Bucky groans. "Turn the camera around, you jerk," he says. It’s all he’s thought about for weeks, the weight Steve must be putting on. He wants to see if his imagination lives up to the reality. 

He kind of doubts that it will. 

“Alright, alright," Steve says. "Hope I don’t disappoint." And then he flips the camera around and Bucky nearly comes right then and there. He actually has to stop stroking himself and squeeze instead. _Big_ is right, as it turns out. Bucky wishes he could have seen this new version of Steve for the first time in person, but, hey, he’s not about to complain. 

Steve’s belly fills most of his phone screen, round and obvious with a thin white t-shirt stretch tight across the curve of it. Bucky wonders if that’s what Steve wore to dinner or if he’s already taken off a button-down. Then Steve tilts his phone a little and Bucky can see over his tummy, can see his thick thighs encased in tight denim and his fly open around, lord above, a bulge that’s also featured heavily in Bucky’s most shameful fantasies. The lighting isn’t great, but Bucky doesn’t think he’s imagining the little pink and white marks peeking out where Steve’s t-shirt rides up. His fingers itch to touch that stretched skin. 

“Well?” Steve asks from off screen. “Gotta tell me what you think before I start wondering if I made a mistake here, bud.” Bucky can’t see Steve’s face but he can hear an unfamiliar hint of insecurity in his voice, and he’s quick to shake his head. 

“Not a mistake, Steve, fuck,” he says, taking himself in hand again. “God, you look—great.” Bucky watches the hand that’s not holding Steve’s phone settle against the bottom of his belly and rub back and forth. “Freshman fifteen looks good on you,” he adds with a groan. Bucky is back to stroking himself and he’s so, so close already. Steve laughs and when he speaks again, Bucky’s happy to find his previous insecurity is nowhere to be found. 

“Ha, more like freshman twenty-five. This isn’t exactly the first time I’ve eaten too much,” Steve says, and when his hand slides up his belly this time, the hem of his t-shirt gets hooked on his thumb. The fabric rides up enough that Bucky can see Steve’s belly button, and just as he’s considering what it might be like to stick his tongue in it, he comes, explosively, all over his hand and his stomach. It hits him so hard that he sees stars for a second, and it’s not until Steve says his name that he’s able to focus on his phone again. 

Steve’s face is back on the screen, still flushed and grinning, his one dimple prominent. Bucky gives him a spent sort of smile in return, thinking now about how nice it might be to press his lips against that dimple. There’s a beat of silence, and then they both start talking at once. 

“You first,” Bucky says, and Steve seems to steel himself a bit before he speaks again. 

“Bucky, I… I’m really glad you’re, uh, into me,” he starts, awkwardly. “But I gotta know, I mean, I hope that you, you know. Like me?” The tone of insecurity is back again, breaking Bucky’s heart. Tired as he is, he’s gotta stamp that out, quick. 

“Steve,” he says, with as much conviction as he can muster. “I like you. Everything about you, the whole package.” Body and soul, as the poets say. Certainly now, but at the same time, Bucky thinks that’s the way it’s probably always been. 

“Good,” Steve says, with what sounds like relief. “So I’ll see you at Christmas?” Bucky laughs. 

“Steve, we haven’t gone one single day without seeing each other since I moved all the way across the damn country. If you think I’m not getting my hands on you as soon as humanly possible, well, you’ve got another think coming,” he says. The light on Steve’s end of the call is almost entirely gone, but Bucky’s sure that his cheeks have turned that pretty pink again. God, Bucky wants to kiss him.

“God, I want to kiss you, Bucky,” Steve says, and Bucky grins. 

“Christmas,” he says. “Only two weeks, and then you can kiss me all you want, big guy.”

***

Those two weeks are simultaneously the shortest and longest of Bucky’s life. But that Christmas is by far the best one he’s had in all his nearly nineteen years on this earth. And not least because Steve meets him at baggage claim, looking every bit as gorgeous in person as Bucky’s spent the last two months imagining—even better, really—and kisses him in a truly indecent manner that Bucky does not mind in the least. 

It probably also has something to do with the fact that Bucky shows up at Steve’s place with two dozen homemade cookies on Christmas Eve and leaves that evening with an empty Tupperware, several hickies, and a steady (albeit long-distance) boyfriend. 

Probably. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you anonknewmoose for the beta! <3


End file.
